


Growth, Change, Refinement

by hellseries



Category: 11Foot8 Bridge (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellseries/pseuds/hellseries
Summary: "Folk that can’t ordinarily pick up and move like to take advantage when they can. Especially in weather like this.”
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Growth, Change, Refinement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magikarpeggio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magikarpeggio/gifts).



I couldn’t help the gust of wind that blew past me, prompting a certain amount of muttering and shifting from those nearest the door; but at least I took care not to just let the door bang shut behind me. The bell jingled decorously, that was all.

“Welcome, welcome,” said the host. “What’s yours?”

“The usual. Business is good, I see.”

They glanced around the packed room. “As you say. Folk that can’t ordinarily pick up and move like to take advantage when they can. Especially in weather like this.”

I nodded. “Freezing rain in my territory tonight.”

The host shuddered appreciatively. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, trailer jackknifed a couple blocks from my place so the road’s closed. I figure five or six hours at least. So I took advantage of the opportunity.”

There were sudden calls of “WHOA!” and “You better watch out! YOU BETTER WATCH OUT!” from one of the tables near the front window. A muffled thudding of hooves Dopplered past and a roostertail of white splattered the windows, blanking them out completely. A dull snort accompanied the hoofbeats as they died away.

“Would you like a seat?” asked a voice on my right flank. “We could make some room.”

I chuckled. “Thanks, but no. ‘Making room’ is a concept that—well, let’s just say it violates my principles. However much room there is, that’s how much there is. I can manage with that.”

“Speaking of business, how’s yours been?” said the host. They looked a bit solemn. “Heard you’d had, um, some difficulties.”

“Hah! ‘Difficulties’!” blared a voice behind me. “What you mean is, the son-of-a-bitch got what was coming to him, and about damn time! No more AC units on the pavement, no more getting jammed halfway through a moving run—good riddance!” An empty mug banged down on the bar. “Same again, barkeep.”  
  
“No tabs,” said the host quietly, taking the empty and holding it under the tap.

“Sure, sure,” the voice grumbled. A handful of coins and bills dropped where the glass had been, a few shards of red and yellow plastic mixed in. The lights glinted festively off them. “Here. Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Mack,” said the host, passing the full and foaming mug across the bar. They scooped up the money and flicked the bits of debris to the floor.

“Business,” I said, “has been… slower, lately. But it’s still the same business. A little less frequent, but I think—”

“You’re so full of shit,” snarled Mack. “You had your day, and you were a vicious bastard for way too long, but now it’s over. We’re out of your reach.”

“Some of you, no doubt,” I said. “Not all.” I took a sip of my drink, nodded my appreciation to the host, and paid them. Someone bumped me lightly, then mumbled an apology. The place was definitely getting more crowded.

“What I say is,” Mack continued, louder and sloppier, weaving a bit as he tried to keep upright against the jostling, “one of these days all you bastards’ll get what’s coming to you. One of these days they’ll realize the roads were made for us and we can go wherever we damn well please without worrying about your stupid rules and signs!” He slopped about half his drink onto the floor for emphasis.

“You want to watch it, there, friend,” I advised.

“Awwww, he spilled his beer. Maybe you could open a new can for him!” called someone over on the far side of the room. There were a couple of appreciative hoots.

“Shut up!” bawled Mack. “The point is—”

“Hey! That’s my camera!” someone interrupted. There was a brief flurry of activity. A tentacle appeared above the crowd briefly, waving a small video camera. In a conditioned reflex known throughout the multiverse, everyone in the local group stuck pairs of appendages up behind each other’s heads. The thing with the tentacle ducked under the table, then squelched itself through an impossibly small vent. The camera jammed, too large to fit through, and after a couple of tugs the tentacle released it and retreated. Someone scooped up the camera and returned it to its owner (with some difficulty, as it was now covered in adhesive slime). The peanut gallery laughed and offered editorial comment.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Mack bellowed. “Especially YOU.” He glared at me. “YOU,” he said, gesturing with his beer mug, now nearly empty, “need to STOP telling me what to do.”

“Look, friend, it’s crowded in here and the floor’s wet, I’m just saying—”

Mack threw his mug straight at my head. I ducked. The mug flew by and the host, no stranger to this sort of activity, caught it neatly. The crowd, defying both my principles and the laws of physics, actually made more room around us.

“You wanta go?” Mack panted. “OK, let’s go!” He slapped himself on the chest (he nearly missed), cleared his throat and stumbled toward me in a clumsy run. A loud "HONK!" startled him and he slipped in the puddle of beer and went down. There was a smattering of applause, and a retreating snapple-pap of bare feet. Something went “ping,” a lovely resonant note, then after a few seconds a bright chunk of metal hit the floor and gradually jingled its way to silence.

There was a brief pause. “Um… little help here?” said Mack’s chastened voice from near the floor.

I shrugged. “I did try to warn him,” I said.

“You always do,” said the host.

“It’s what separates the ones like me from the ones like my brother,” I mused.

“Well, that and your brother’s a fucking psycho, and probably someday a killer,” said the host.

“That too,” I said. “Here’s to timely warnings.”

“Here’s to lights,” said the host.

“Here’s to the season when it’s nice to be indoors,” someone else said.

“Here’s to karmic justice,” said someone else, “but just the right amount.”

There was a triumphant “HONK!” of agreement, and a pyramid of empty beer cans in the corner toppled and spun with a spray of reflections and a lovely chiming sound.

A tentacle emerged stealthily from the vent over the bar, suction-cupped half a bowlful of peanuts, then retreated. There were chitinous nibbling noises. Bits of peanut shell began sifting down, drifting like snowflakes in the draft from the ceiling fan.

Outside, a moose pressed its nose to the snow-smeared window. Someone cautiously opened the door a crack and tossed it a hot pretzel.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this, dear reader! Related content:  
> 11Foot8's Evil Little Brother: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3-UugI0JoA  
> I Find This Amoosing GIF: https://imgur.com/gallery/4hx8YeE  
> octopus steals my video camera and swims off with it (while its Recording): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x5DyBkYKqnM  
> The newly raised, 11foot8 +8 canopener nibbles on a box truck: http://11foot8.com/the-newly-raised-11foot8-8-canopener-nibbles-on-a-box-truck/  
> I am the horrible goose that lives in the town: https://www.shatnerchatner.com/p/i-am-the-horrible-goose-that-lives


End file.
